


No Surrender

by DoreyG



Series: The Beast Inside [2]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Anal Sex, Biting, Denial of Feelings, Light Dom/sub, M/M, No Lube, Sex Pollen Aftermath, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-04 18:44:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16352117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/pseuds/DoreyG
Summary: "Jesus," O'Brien greets him upon answering the door, and yanks him firmly into his quarters before he can even say a word, "d'you want everybody to see you, or something? Don't you know how often Odo patrols this corridor?"





	No Surrender

**Author's Note:**

> It only took four months for me to write a sequel!

"Jesus," O'Brien greets him upon answering the door, and yanks him firmly into his quarters before he can even say a word, "d'you want everybody to see you, or something? Don't you know how often Odo patrols this corridor?"

"Once a day, generally just after 1800 hours," he says, and _pointedly_ adjusts his cuffs as the door slides shut behind him, "but no, you're right. It _was_ foolish of me to knock on your isolated door a full three hours after that. Odo will have, no doubt, noted every detail and already passed it down to his deputies. It'll be all over the station by the morning, and our lives will be undoubtedly ruined forever. What _could_ I have been thinking?"

The look on O'Brien's face is something special, a glare of such venom that he's tempted to take a picture of it for future perusal, "d'you have to be such a dick all the time?"

"I could ask much the same thing of you," he asks sweetly, and allows himself one final moment of appreciation before clamping down. He can't afford to be distracted, he's already in too deep as it is, "put your claws away, chief. We need to talk."

"Do we?" O'Brien asks, sullen and _scowling_ as expected. His narrowed eyes flick over his face for a second, his hands clench briefly into fists... And then he sighs, "nah, I suppose that's a stupid question. I knew this day was coming. Must admit I hoped it'd keep coming for a good while yet, but I guess you can't put off the reaper forever."

He... Blinks, surprised despite himself. Humans generally require a lot more pushing before they can bring themselves to admit the truth, such bluntness is refreshing in a way that he doesn't want to examine too closely, "how quaint."

"Of course _you'd_ see the truth as quaint. Sums up your entire personality, when I think of it. The truth is quaint, constant lying is just the natural order of things." O'Brien looks like he's about to continue his rant for a second more, but then only sighs again. Scrubs a hand over his hair, as he turns and heads back to the settee area, "sorry, being a dick again. You want anything? A beer, maybe?"

"You were provoked," he says quietly, even more surprised to find himself giving O'Brien any slack, and follows, "and no, thank you, I'm fine. I think it's best that we get this over with as quickly as possible, don't you?"

"Makes sense." O'Brien settles himself on one of the settees, waits until he lowers himself carefully onto the opposite one - watching warily all the while - before folding his hands in front of him and continuing, "I'm sorry, for what I did to you in the cargo bay."

"Are you?"

"Of course I am!" O'Brien snaps, and then valiantly tries to get his glare back under control. He's trying, at least. He'll never succeed, but the desire to put in the effort is another thing he reluctantly admires about the man, "I didn't mean to. I wasn't exactly in control of my actions at the time, but I still forced you into a situation that you wouldn't have chosen to be in. And I'd be a monster, if I wasn't at least a little sorry for that."

"...Thank you," he says gently, oddly touched despite himself. O'Brien is a good man. He's never considered that a particularly admirable trait, but that doesn't make it any less true, "I accept your apology."

"Thank _you_ , for accepting my- Christ. It's like we're in an after school special," O'Brien grimaces, rubs a hand across his head again before looking back at him, "were you alright, afterwards?"

"Didn't doctor Bashir tell you?" He asks, genuinely curious. 

"I- only the basics." O'Brien flushes bright red, and he tries not to watch it with too much interest. Instead focuses on the limited sympathy he can summon. He tries to cultivate an attitude of being above it all, the blows of ants hurt far less than the blows of elephants after all, but the thought of everybody - _especially_ Bashir - knowing what happened between them in that cargo bay is hardly a pleasant one, "confidentiality, you know? He told me just enough so I didn't torture myself with guilt."

"Ah, another one of your federation quirks." He forces an urbane smile, feeling that an annoying distraction from the topic will work wonders. O'Brien won't recognize it as a mercy, no human ever has, but he feels better for extending it nonetheless, "I was fine, chief."

O'Brien gives him a faintly sour look, but some of the tomato red fades from his face at least. It's enough for him, "fine?"

"There was some tearing, but that was so minor that it didn't even require medical attention," he says carefully, omitting the fact that he wouldn't have sought said attention even if he had literally been on the point of death, "and as for mental damage... Well, there have been some lingering problems but nothing outright severe."

"Some lingering problems?" O'Brien repeats, rising half off the settee at that. Almost as if he's actually worried. He'd be _touched_ , if he was about twenty years younger and a great deal less experienced, "Christ, Garak. And here comes the guilt, flooding back again."

"They're not what you'd expect," he says, only realizes that his tone is gentle after he's spoken and seen O'Brien blinking down at him. An unsettling slip, he'll have to watch for that in the future, "let me be perfectly honest here, chief, if only to assuage your rather melodramatic guilt complex. I don't have flashbacks, I don't have a lingering fear and I don't have regrets. I don't even look back at the incident in question negatively, truth be told."

There's a long pause. O'Brien allows himself to sink slowly back down onto the sofa, his expression confused, "seriously?"

"have I ever been anything but?" He asks wryly, which does at least get the corner of O'Brien's mouth reluctantly ticking upwards, "don't answer that, I well know your opinion of me by this point. Needless to say: I am perfectly serious in this situation, and absolutely in my right mind when I tell you this."

"Sure," O'Brien says slowly, arching an eyebrow so doubtful that he has to briefly bite back on his own smile, "I believe you."

"Good. But I warn you, you may have to brace yourself for what I'll ask you to believe next." He takes in a deep breath, steeples his fingers before him and leans in as calmly as he possibly can, "I want to do it again."

 

\--

 

There's a long moment of stunned silence, and then O'Brien leaps up from the sofa. Backs away from him with a thunderstruck look of surprise spreading across his face, "what the _fuck_?"

"Hear me out," he says calmly, spreading his hands in a gesture that humans apparently find peaceful. Maybe it's something about exposing the jugular, they never are quite as tranquilly evolved as they think they are.

"I should throw you out on your ear for that! O'Brien snaps... And then, to his slight surprise, does actually seem to calm a little. Stops his retreat, and settles for sulkily crossing his arms and glaring instead, "I would throw you out on your ear, if it wasn't for the chance that somebody would see me doing it. What the fuck, Garak?"

"What happened in the cargo bay was the best sex that I've ever had," He says briskly, as quickly as he can in an attempt to stop O'Brien from bolting like a horse. He barely manages to hold back his own flinch, as he realizes that what he's saying is actually _absolutely honest_ , "I am not a spring chicken, as you humans say, I have had a lot of very varied experiences. And it has never, _never_ , been like that."

"Goddamn it, that can't be true," O'Brien mutters dazedly, has to visibly shake himself before he can get back to any sort of coherency, "I _hurt_ you."

"Only physically," he says, and realizes his mistake a second later as O'Brien openly _gawks_ at him, "and only a little, I'm already hea;ed. By Cardassian standards that's entirely normal."

"Yeah, but by human standards it's entirely _not_ ," O'Brien growls, but does at least stop scowling. That oddly appealing confusion is back, wrinkling his forehead and making his eyes narrow, "generally, unless you have certain fetishes. Is that what you want, Garak? For me to rough you up some more? For me to get a whip, perhaps, and play happy painful families with you?"

"Don't be _ridiculous_ ," he snaps, rises to his own feet and tucks his hands neatly behind his back to avoid the risk of losing his temper even further, "I want to do it again to get it out of my system, and that's _all_. No fetishes that obviously have your little maidenly heart aflutter, no interesting acts that would doubtlessly have you swooning in horror, and _certainly_ no happy families."

"Thank fuck for that," O'Brien mutters, but doesn't stop looking... Thoughtful. A lot of the confusion has faded, in its place is a surprisingly intelligent level of consideration, "to get it out of our systems, you said. What, like we do it one last time to prove to ourselves that it wasn't as good as we're remembering it?"

"To prove to ourselves that it was a fluke," he says eagerly, and catches himself only narrowly as O'Brien frowns at him afresh, "if you're willing, of course. Think of it as a purge. A way to reset us to our natural state."

"Of hating each other, and nothing else?" O'Brien asks, with another faint arch of his eyebrow, "Garak..."

"Please," he finds himself saying, his tone surprisingly - disgustingly - vulnerable as he stares into O'Brien's frowning face, "I... I can't stop thinking about it, about what we did. And I need to."

There's a long pause.

O'Brien sighs, and stares straight into his eyes. His expression is solemn, his mouth is set, "I can't stop thinking about it either."

 

\--

 

O'Brien's bedroom is small and dark, a more impersonal space - considering the man's overabundance of personality - than he would've expected. It's more romantic than the cargo hold, in human terms, but that wouldn't be too hard. A brutal slab of rock on Bajor would be more romantic than the cargo hold, to be perfectly honest.

...He shouldn't be thinking of romance at a time like this. What is _wrong_ with him?

"Sorry about the mes," O'Brien says, misinterpreting the wrinkle of his nose, and then lets out a litter bark of laughter when he realizes what he's just said, "how d'you want to do this, then?"

"I was thinking that we could try it as close as possible to last time," he says calmly, dragging his mind from such distracting thoughts with the ease of long practice. He is a Cardassian, after all. Cardassians do not linger on distasteful improbabilities, "except perhaps on the bed, to save us having to find any more boxes.

"To save my knees, while we're at it," O'Brien attempts to joke. It falls flat, like a stone off a clifftop "...Yeah, I guess that sounds like a good plan."

They stare at each other for a long moment, as the room remains dark and terribly unhelpful around them. Neither of them have turned the lights on, there's no real point since they're in this room for one reason only, and while that's probably a good thing he does have to admit that it rather reduces the list of potential distractions.

"Okay," O'Brien says, mainly to himself, and takes a hesitatnt step forwards.

It's different this time, being pressed into the wall. He was too crazed in his lust, too out of his mind with the desire to be fucked as savagely as possible, last time to really notice the details - but now he can't help but do so. O'Brien's neck smells faintly of aftershave, faintly of sweat even through the aftershave. His hair is crisp and slightly rough, and tickles at his hairline. The faint sickliness of claustrophobia is starting to churn in his belly, the urge to run and run and leave all confines behind.

The sheer awkwardness of the situation helps, unexpectedly. The smell of the aftershave makes his eyes water slightly, and O'Brien's curls scratch irritatingly at his skin. The sensation of claustrophobia is still somewhat unpleasant, but reduces to a restrained background hum when he focuses on the absurd heat emanating from the man. He tries to shift slightly away from the sensation, and hears an _off_ as his knee accidently goes into the side of O'Brien's thigh. The next moment he feels a brief flare of pain as O'Brien's elbow goes into his ribs.

"C'mon," O'Brien mutters, sounding about as grumpy as he always goes, and presses him a little harder against the wall. He arches up on his toes, trying to be helpful, and winces a little as O'Brien's knee slots jerkily between his thighs. He understands that that'd be rather painful, if he had the rather cumbersome penis that humans seem to be burdened with.

O'Brien obviously realizes the same thing, gives him a briefly worried glance before he remembers the basics of biology. The man glares for a moment, obviously unamused by his smirk, and then lowers his attention to their bodies again. He starts to move his knee more gently this time, a steady pressure between his legs.

He mercifully allows this to continue for a few minutes, somewhat pleased that the plan seems to be going about as well as can be expected, before he sighs and tilts his head to speak into O'Brien's ear, "it won't come out like that."

"Your cock?" O'Brien asks, turning to frown at him and almost bumping their foreheads together in the process. He doesn't seem too affected either, thankfully, his face is red and there's a slight bulge rubbing up against his thigh but the sparkle in the man's eyes that he remembers from last time is entirely absent, "it came out from this before."

"No it didn't," he says patiently, resisting the urge to roll his eyes by the narrowest of margins, "I have no erogenous zones down there, when I'm tucked away in my pouch. It was probably the biting that did it, or the alien sex pollen reacting with my nervous system and creating an allergic reaction. Either way."

"You read up on it," O'Brien says, somehow managing to make basic research sound _foolish_ , but does at least ease up on the fruitless rubbing. Draws back to examine his neck for a second, before shrugging and leaning back in.

The man's first bite is just below his left neck ridge, somehow managing to land on an area that has even less sensation than between his legs. His teeth are gentle, not enough to cause a _human_ pain let alone a Cardassian. It's more damp and faintly uncomfortable, than anything else.

His plan is _working_. He didn't really think that it wouldn't, of course, but that doesn't mean that he can't take a healthy amount of satisfaction in being proved right. The thought of him and O'Brien being able to bring each other genuine pleasure _is_ ludricrous in the extreme, almost obscenely so. They're complete opposites, diametrically opposed, foes in most possible ways. The chances of his worst fears coming true were the same as Dukat suddenly discovering genuine affection for a creature other than themselves.

O'Brien grunts, moves his mouth a little further up his neck ridge as if searching for a more sensitive spot.

Or the same as the Cardassians, deciding to throw all common sense to the wind and subjugate themselves underneath another galactic power.

O'Brien bites down, as hard as he possibly can.

Or the same-

...Oh, _no_.

Pleasure starts to rise within him. Slow at first, so slow that he half hopes that he's imagining it, but quickly building. It's not quite as desperate as last time, nowhere near the uncontrollable surge that swept all reason away before it, but it is surprisingly intense. It slams into him like a blow, makes his cock start to poke out of its pouch and his skin start to feel too small for him.

He gasps, half out of arousal and half out of dismay, and O'Brien seems to take this for encouragement. Bites down lower on his neck ridge this time, hard enough that he can _properly_ feel it.

The pleasure this time is definite, like a stab to the gut let alone a blow. His cock slips even further free from its pouch, and his hands shoot up automatically to grab ahold of O'Brien's shoulders. Their bodies slot fully together, an awkward embrace no longer.

O'Brien's head is bent fully over his neck now, his teeth fully embedded in his flesh. He's hardly a passive party in their arrangement, his hands fisted in the back of the man's uniform hard enough to ruffle the fabric and his body pressing up with an instinctive urgency. He can feel O'Brien's arousal now, large for a human against his thigh, and if that's the case then O'Brien can _definitely_ feel his.

O'Brien presses him into the wall harder, and he goes without even a murmur of protest. The man sets his teeth to his neck ridge and keeps them there, digging in roughly as he rocks their bodies together with a single-minded focus.

He responds, without any conscious decision. Arches his back against the wall, and greets O'Brien's thrusts with his own. He hears a tearing sound, probably O'Brien's uniform giving way underneath his grip, but feels no guilty about ignoring it. His cock is fully out now, and every rub of O'Brien's thigh against it is _glorious_. 

All things being considered, it doesn't take them very long to escalate matters. O'Brien's teeth hit a particularly sensitive bump on his neck ridge, he groans loudly... And the next moment he's being yanked away from the wall, spun around and pushed towards the bed at a not inconsiderable speed.

The similarity to what happened in the cargo hold is impossible to avoid, except this time he's aware and willing for every single step of it. He even has the presence of mind to say, "on my hands and knees," as they approach the tipping point.

O'Brien glances back at him inquiringly, his face still flushed that shade of red that he's going to _permanently_ associate with arousal now. He's not the most attractive at humans, but looking as he does now... He has his charms, "what?"

"On my hands and knees," he repeats, impatiently, and digs his heels in _just_ before O'Brien can throw him on the bed and strip all control away, "I don't know about you, but I'm a little too old for the acrobatics involved otherwise."

He's not, Cardassians are considerably less brittle than humans and he's always made sure to keep in good shape besides, but it's an easy less. Far less effort than explaining why he'd rather avoid the intimacy of being face to face as O'Brien pins him down, and tears away every single wall that he's constructed.

"I guess that makes sense," O'Brien grumbles. Looking a little relieved, as if he gets the subtleties of his thought process no matter how much he tries to hide them, "you'll have to get all of that off first, though. Best not to repeat _that_ part of last time."

It's on the tip of his tongue to find some way to keep their clothes on, to make this seem even more impersonal... But it'd be a lie too far, and maybe a tiny part of him _wants_ at least a little vulnerability in this. He steps out of his shoes without a word of protest, sheds the rest of his clothing just as meekly.

It only strikes him, when his last piece of underclothing hits the ground, that this is the first time he's been entirely naked in front of another being in at least five years.

"Huh," O'Brien says when he's, when they're _both_ he notices with a flare of shocked arousal at the sight of O'Brien's bared cock, done. Looks at him with eyes that are almost appreciative for a long moment, and then pushes him back on the bed.

He could resist, he could resist quite _violently_ if he wanted, but he doesn't. He only smiles, hooks his own foot around O'Brien's calf as he falls and brings the man down with him.

They tussle on the bed for a few moments, him earning a few more elbows in the ribs for his efforts, and then he rolls over onto his stomach and hears O'Brien growl above him. The feeling of the man's cock at the crack of his ass is a surprisingly arousing one, he arches at the feel of it and is even more surprised when actual sparks of pleasure flash in front of his eyes.

He gains his hands and knees, at a somewhat shaky prompt from O'Brien. They rock together like that for a long few moments, a heated simulation of sex before the main act. He should be _desperate_ to get this over and done with, but instead he finds himself strangely invested in the motion. O'Brien's cock is hard and hot against him, and he feels his inner walls loosening with every thrust. The man keeps making groaning noises into his neck, and he can't help but respond with grunts of his own.

"No lube," he growls on a ragged breath, when O'Brien finally shifts on top of him and reaches for the bedside table.

"What? You're gonna hurt yourself again, you don't-" O'Brien snaps, his voice equally wrecked. Trails off into a growled swear word that has his cock somehow stiffening even further between his thighs, " _fine_."

He tenses despite himself, bracing for penetration, but O'Brien doesn't follow orders immediately. Instead he only digs his teeth into his left neck ridge again, nips at the back of his bent neck, trails his teeth lower questingly...

He's never sought out partners who want to explore him before, he's always rather preferred the kind of partner who will see him as a willing hole and nothing more, so it's an actual surprise when halfway down his spinal ridge O'Brien finds a point that makes his entire body jolt with pleasure. He makes a high-pitched embarrassing noise and _feels_ the man smile against his skin.

And then he does it again.

He was already aroused, at a level that he hadn't experienced for at least half a lifetime before their encounter in the cargo hold, but this is something else. With every deliberate flicker of O'Brien's tongue he drips more pre-come on the bed, with every scrape of his teeth his cock pulses urgently against his thigh, with every actual bite another desperate whimper spills from his mouth. Somehow this is even _better_ than last time, the sensation rolling through him so surely that he frenziedly thinks he could spend the rest of his life on his hands and knees in this bed.

He lets out a warning whine, half at the sensation and half at the unexpected intensity of the thought, and almost jerks up off the bed as the sweetness of O'Brien's mouth moves away. He's prepared to protest, prepared to yowl at the top of his lungs for more more _more_ -

But then he hears a low, dirty chuckle from behind. And feels the head of O'Brien's cock nudge up against his entrance again.

The first thrust in burns, but he's always rather liked that. He digs his hands into the sheets, braces his knees and rolls back into it until O'Brien is fully seated within him. To feel split open like this... It's amazing, the stretch of it pressing against his nerves with an intensity that takes his breath away.

O'Brien shudders above him, a motion he feels through every _inch_ , and buries his head in the back of his neck. He can feel the man's sweat against the scales of his spine, can feel his panted breaths like a caress over his neck. Never has he felt a partner come so surely undone above him, never has he really cared to.

When O'Brien starts to move, he tries his very hardest to control himself. He even bites his lip, digs his primary canines into the flesh hard enough that he tastes blood... But it does no good. He still feels the pleasure continue to roll through him, he still feels every inch of O'Brien moving within him, he still finds himself whimpering again like he can't quite stop himself.

The only consolation, and what a surprisingly good consolation it is, is that O'Brien seems just as lost as he is. He doesn't seem able to control the noises that spill out of his mouth, or simply isn't _willing_ to. He groans into the back of his neck, and then growls, and then downright _snarls_. By the time he finally lifts his head up, to gasp a ragged version of his name into his ear, he's helpless beneath it.

O'Brien can't reach that point on his spine from his position, but he manages to make do. He keeps biting at his neck ridges, the growing pleasure within him making him rough. Every graze of his teeth leads to an erotic surge of pain that he can't resist, that makes his cock jerk every single time. 

Judging by the noises O'Brien is making, every time his mouth leaves flesh, he feels much the same way. He can feel the man shuddering hard against him and within him, he can feel the heat of his flesh pressed against every inch of his body. The sensation is _incredible_. Their pollen fuelled fuck was something special itself, but this is something _unique_. They move together perfectly, every dragging motion sending waves of pleasure flowing through him. They move together almost like they were meant to.

An unsettling thought, but clouded with lust as his mind is he has little option but to allow it. He can only keep shoving himself backwards onto O'Brien's cock, keening his pleasure all the while. He feels hot, unchained. He feels like nothing that has happened to him, all the petty and meaningful things that he's suffered over the years, has ever mattered.

They've grown sloppier now, less focused. O'Brien's groans are loud in his ears, stuttering with every thrust. He's whining helplessly himself, his fingers digging so hard into the man's sheets that there's a high chance they're going to be ruined tomorrow. They're moving together, towards the edge of a cliff that neither of the can avoid. That neither of them, he realizes with one last burst of shock, really want to.

He thrust back one final time, as hard as he can. O'Brien sets his teeth to his shoulder ridge, and bites hard enough that he feels a flare of sensation all down his arm.

_And_ -

He's the first one to come, yet again, but at least this time O'Brien is right behind him. His hands fist in the sheets, and he hears a sharp ripping sound as he falls breathlessly forwards onto his elbows. O'Brien follows him down with a shout, buries his face in his shoulder and pumps his hips two more times before falling still.

They pant together for a long few moments, still joined. His hair is in his eyes, and he can feel the stickiness of come inside him. O'Brien feels heavy on top of him, and keeps panting in his ear like he's just been in some kind of dramatic fight.

Awareness returns only in slow, awkward stages this time. He buries his face in the ripped sheets for a long moment, trying to gather himself, and pointedly arches his back. O'Brien takes the hint, slides slowly out of him and flops bonelessly to the side with a lack of coordination that is rather annoying to be perfectly honest.

"...Aw shit," O'Brien says eventually, after the appropriate period of horrified time has passed.

"You keep saying that," he notes grimly, and buries his head even further into the sheets.


End file.
